"Watson, I think you're pregnant."
She narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head, "Gee, Sherlock, what was you're first clue?"
"Uhm, well, your water breaking for one..." He took her by the elbow and moved her over to one of the kitchen chairs. "Contractions?" For all his attempts to be flippant, she could see he was now in high stress mode: his breathing elevated, his eyes taking in every detail of her physical condition, his face taut.
"No, not yet but I'm sure they're on their way." She put her hand on her belly. "Trust your child to do things his own way."
Sherlock tried to suppress his first proud papa smile and put his hand on top of hers. "What say we start making our way to the hospital, hmm?" He failed in his attempt to sound nonchalant.
A little less than nine months prior:
She could barely keep her eyes open. Watson leaned her head against her hand and took another slow drink of the hot black tea hoping it would kick in soon. The kitchen table needed clearing but she would have to leave that for Ms Hudson or Sherlock. It was enough of an effort just to drink her tea.
Watson heard him way before she saw him. God bless the man's energy level. She wished she could get some by osmosis at this point. Sherlock strode into the kitchen, stopped suddenly beside her and theatrically placed a small rectangular box in front of her with a flourish. She looked at the box and raised her eyes to look at him.
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
He nervously bounced on the balls of his feet, "I think we may be pregnant. My hypothesis needs confirmation tho, hence the test." Joan could tell how anxious he was by his over the top hand gesture towards the box.
She had already considered the possibility. Joan had felt 'different' for a few days. But what tipped him off? "What makes you think I'm pregnant?" she tried to not sound defensive.
"Well ... for starters, we've been going at it like bunnies in heat for months now." His punctuated the statement with the flash of his eyes, a thin lipped smile and a bob of his head. "That, plus fatigue, altered mood and sleep patterns, and uhm, ... you smell slightly different, musky ... yet sweet ..." He looked almost embarrassed, his eyes swept her face and looked away quickly.
She couldn't help but smile at him as she reached for the box. Joan sat back in her chair turning the box over in her hands. Her mood turned serious, "What if I am, what do we do?"
Sherlock didn't hesitate with his answer, "It's your body Watson, it's your decision."
"Yes, but it will be our child, it's our decision." The weight of the words caught both of them by surprise "our child." Their eyes met and locked. The prospect was tremendously terrifying yet carried with it a bright sense of joy.
"Let's take the test," he all but whispered the words. Joan got up slowly from her chair and he put his arm around her waist for support.
"I should have known this would be your doing. I've felt like death warmed over for days now ..." she teased him as they made their way to the stairs. "I just don't know how this happened. We've been so careful ..."
"Even science has its limits Watson, and there was that one time in the supply closet ... Remember? When Smitty came looking for paper towels?"
Giggles tumbled from Joan as she remembered poor Smitty's face, "That poor guy. He does have a talent for catching us at our worst."
"Or at our best!" Sherlock waggled his eyebrows eliciting a guffaw out of her and giving her renewed energy to climb the stairs to the second floor.